An Adventure That Could Have Been
This is an alternate take on the quest chain called "The Great Masquerade", which was removed when the attunement requirement for Onyxia's Lair was removed. I've changed a few minor things, like a pointless return to Marshall Maxwell to tell him you found Windsor (which completely went against the order to "Return with him alive, or with proof of his death". I also cut out the part where Marshall Windsor was going all emo in his jailcell, even though all of the dwarves guarding him were dead, and the armory was just down the hall. Note that it was King Varian Chin Wrynn who canonically did this stuff and unmasked Onyxia. An Adventure That Could Have Been It began simply enough. Jhundormi was traveling through the Burning Steppes, slaughtering black drakes in an attempt to help out the residents of nearby Lakeshire while working on a project of her own: a gorget crafted from black dragonhide, with fangs from one hundred individual drakes fused directly to the leather. As she was working as a mercenary, she returned to the holder of her contract once the task was completed to collect her payment. It was an elf named Helendis Riverhorn this time, and along with her payment he gave her a letter. "Please, Brasswing. This is a matter of urgent importance, and you are the only one available for such a task. This letter details our findings regarding the relationship between the Blackrock Orcs and the Black Dragonflight which roosts at the top of the spire. Bring this to Magistrate Solomon of Lakeshire, he will know what to do with it." Naturally, she accepted the elf's task, stowing the report in her satchel as she called forth her charger, climbing atop the beast and making haste toward the village to the south. Coming up quickly, she dismounted, leaving her steed with the stable handler and sprinting to the town hall as quickly as she could manage while weighed down with her platemail. Luckily, the magistrate hadn't been too busy and was able to hold audience with the mercenary. Greeting her amiably, he spoke. "Ah, Brasswing. Thank you again for all you have done for our lovely town. How may I help you?" "I've an urgent message for you from Helendis Riverhorn, regarding the orcs to the north." With that she produced the letter from her satchel, handing it to the man before taking a seat in a nearby chair and allowing him to read its contents. After several minutes, during which Solomon read and reread the paper he had been given, he spoke up. "This is dire news, Brasswing. According to this, the orcs are simply pawns of the Black Dragonflight. I suppose you already knew that, however. But those who are not on the front lines do not. You must deliver this to Highlord Bolvar Fordragon. Perhaps this news will spur the Stormwind Military into action..." Jhundormi took the report back, stowing it once more in her pack before claiming her charger from the stables and riding eastward, through Elwynn Forest, past Goldshire, and into the main gates of Stormwind as swift as the spiritual horse could carry her. The entire trip took a few hours, and once she had passed the gates, it took her ten minutes to reach the keep. Once again dismounting, she left her steed with the guard and rushed into the throne room, letter in hand. Fortune was again in Jhundormi's favor, as the throne room was empty save for Prince Anduin Wrynn and his caretakers, Highlord Bolvar and Lady Katrana Prestor. There was an unspoken hatred between Jhundormi and the Lady Prestor. The latter fixed the former with an icy glare and spoke. "Ah, a mercenary barging in with the mail deliveries. Give me the letter and I will see that it is taken care of properly. We can't set a precedent for fangirls delivering love-notes directly to the royalty, after all." Jhundormi met the Lady's glare with one of her own before muttering a derogatory term beneath her breath and turning to Highlord Bolvar. "I apologize, Highlord. But I was instructed to deliver this message directly to your hands by your marshalls in the Burning Steppe." True, some might have considered it a lie. But she was pretty sure that Bolvar did indeed have at least one marshall in the Burning Steppe, and was fairly certain that Lady Prestor hadn't been keeping tabs on him like some nursemaid... had she? "Very well... Brasswing, was it? I will see your letter." After a few moments of Bolvar reading and rereading the report, then handing it off to the Lady Prestor for her opinion, the silence was broken by the latter. "We cannot spare the reinforcements to some fishing village. Our military is already spread thin enough with all of the fronts we are already fighting on. Run back to your paranoid magistrate and heat-addled riffraff to tell them my answer." Then, the Highlord spoke up, with something like a glare in Prestor's direction. "I'm certain we could hire a freelancer to handle this little problem. Or even induct one into the ranks of our military... temporarily of course. Yes, I think we could use some fresh blood in our forces. I hereby empower you as acting deputy of Stormwind, and place the investigation of this matter under your control." With a nod, Jhundormi gave a crisp salute and rushed back to her mount, which was still being held by the bewildered guard she left it with. Climbing yet again onto the beast, she rode back to Lakeshire where it was stabled as she rushed once more to the Magistrate. He had been expecting her, and she gave him the news before she had even come to a stop. "It appears that all Stormwind can spare is a single deputy, myself. I apologize, though I will do as much as I am able." Upon hearing this news, Solomon was visibly disheartened. Wiping at his watery eyes, he gave a weak chuckle. "Well, I suppose it could have been worse. Return to the Steppes and report to Marshall Maxwell. He will have orders for you. Light be with you, Paladin." A nod and a short time later, Jhundormi was once again mounted and traveling, this time to Morgan's Vigil where she would speak with Marshall Maxwell. "Sir! Deputy Brasswing reporting for duty! Highlord Fordragon has left the legwork regarding the matter of these dragons under my control, your first order sir?" With a chuckle, the Marshall responded, admiring the zeal in the woman's voice. "I'll level with you, Brasswing. You weren't the first person to do one of these deliveries. I'm surprised that you actually got as far as you did, though. Normally our reports go unnoticed and buried under other paperwork. Right, we're making progress though! We have information. Well, had information. I sent a squad out a while back, good men. Only one came back. Ragged John was his name, a dwarf. Last I saw of him was over to the northwest, in a cave with a bunch of goblins. With luck, he's probably still there. A word of advice though: Try to keep your patience with him. He's a bit off in the head." And so Jhundormi set to traveling across the steppe on foot, wasting no time with fights she could have avoided, heading directly to the northwest. Before long, she saw her goal, and not long after that she was at the mouth of the cave, looking for Ragged John. The dwarf was busy bartering for a smolderweb spiderling from a goblin inside the cave, one with a parrot sitting on his shoulder. Unable to swing an agreeable deal, he stormed out, bumping into the Paladin. "Oi! Watch where yer... 'ey, lassie. You look pretty tough. Wha' say yeh 'bout gettin' milked by meh? Eh? No? Alrigh' then. I presume yer 'ere teh see meh then?" Jhundormi felt her face turning a shade of red, and a powerful impulse to punt the dwarf shot through her. The nerve! She didn't even know him! "So, you're Ragged John." She took a few moments to look him over, noting the ratty beard and tattered hat. "I see where that name comes from. I am actually here regarding Marshall Windsor, a part of your adventuring party into the Spire?" "Aye, lass. 'Eh was wit' meh in th' spire. 'Ad 'imself a magic hammer teh, pretty good wit' smashin' orc heads an' such. Forged by Franklorn Forgewright himself, for ol' Great Great Granpappy Windsor. Ironfoe, 'eh called it. Well, 'eh's gone now... Guess 'is hammer wasn't enough. Bu' i' was such a beautiful sight..." Here, the dwarf paused to wipe a tear from his eye, his voice breaking a bit. "Si' down lass, it's storeh time. Thir'y orcs came outta th' walls a' us. Thir'y orcs fell t' 'is hammer. 'Eh di'n't e'en flinch, Windsor. Well, then twen'y more came ou' a' us. I... I was payin' heed to wha' m'pappy told me. 'Discreditin' be the better part o' a cracker' or somethin'. Givin' 'im moral suppor' an' such." "So Windsor is dead then? Where did he die? " "Dead? Windsor ain't dead! Nae, it'd take more'n an army o' orcs t'take down th' mighty Windsor. W'got ambushed by Dark Irons, the crafty gits. While we were fightin' a bunch more orcs. They dragged 'im t' the Blackrock Depths. Prolly stuck 'im in one'a those li'l cells they use t' hold those beasties in th' 'renas. Now, since yer gonna be down there, think y'could mebbe try'n find Windsor's hammer? Tha' emperor fellah claimed it while they were draggin' ol' Windsor off. Prolly why 'e's bein' 'eld prisoner instead'a jes bein' killed straight-like. It'd sure be a load off'a my mind knowin' them grubby black-skinned mitts ain't all grabby on it." Once she ensured that the dwarf was finished with his story, Jhundormi returned to Morgan's Vigil, sorting through her newfound information to pick out bits of exaggeration and truth. Marshall Maxwell greeted her at the northern approach, wasting no time in issuing her further orders. "So, hopefully you know where Windsor is now. Your next task is to find him, but you probably already knew that and coming back to report to me was just a formality. We don't have time for formalities, Deputy. If he's alive, bring him back. If he's dead... bring back what's left. Good luck." Finally, Jhundormi set off to the depths of Blackrock Spire, after ensuring that her equipment was in tip-top shape. The trip took nearly an hour on foot, and she took brief moments to rest when she needed it. Of course, time was of the essence so she couldn't rest for very long. She traveled along the lengthy bridge crossing a massive pool of lava, leading into a large cavern with an even larger pool of lava within it. Suspended in the middle of this cavern was a massive chunk of stone, with what appeared to be a tomb built into it. It also appeared to be the only way to access what looked like an entrance on the lower level. She knew that this journey would prove unpleasant, so she took the necessary precautions and mumbled a brief prayer for protection from the nigh-unbearable heat as well as placing a simple blessing upon herself, which would allow her strikes to hit harder and connect more reliably. Crossing the first chain, she reached the entrance to the tomb. It actually looked like nobody had touched the structure in decades, but she still took precautions. She could have sworn she felt a presence lingering about the sole casket in the tomb, but she decided that it was simply her imagination, paying it no heed and passing downward, carefully inching along the second chain holding the structure steady, down toward the opening she saw from above. Sweat was pouring down her face by now, even with supernatural protection from the heat, and she could have sworn she saw a high elf standing in a small alcove. Certainly she was hallucinating, and should hurry on her way. So she did, hurrying toward the deepest part of the new cavern this passage opened up into, she ducked behind massive wheels designed for transporting stonework blocks, not wanting to call more attention to herself than necessary. She had a feeling she would need her strength for later on. That feeling proved to be correct as she faced a three-way branch in her path. One leading to the left and through a gate which would no doubt be locked, one to the right and into a small alcove apparently being used for storage, and one leading straight forward and into a large circular room that appeared to be a prison of some sort. The latter was the path she would take, waiting until the patrolmen's backs were turned before making her move and hiding behind the nearest obstruction. This proved to be far too difficult to pull off reliably, so she eventually decided against the stealthy approach, and struck at the nearest guard with her greatsword; a custom-forged truesilver champion, perfectly balanced and keen enough to slice cleanly through even thorium. The Dark Iron dwarf's armor was made of something far sturdier than thorium, however, and her blade glanced off of the dwarf's helm, lodging itself in a separation between his spaulders. The dwarf let out an alarmed cry before Jhundormi tried to pull her sword free, knocking the dwarf off balance. She used this opening to plant a heavily-plated boot right between his eyes, intentionally wedged for just such occasions. The dwarf was left with a large welt on his brow, which would no doubt turn into a nasty bruise. Definitely not enough to kill him, and she had only just freed her sword from the dwarf's armor before more guards were showing up to investigate. She would definitely have a fight on her hands. Renewing her strengthening blessing and calling upon the power of a quickening seal, Jhundormi struck a battle stance, lashing forward with a lightning-swift thrust which planted her blade deeply into the first dwarf's head. A few more such strikes over the span of a few seconds would fell four more attacking dwarves, however she knew that she would be unable to maintain this pace for long. She simply wasn't used to fighting more than a handful of enemies at a time. To make matters worse, while she was lamenting her combat experience, the dwarves were tightening the circle they had her surrounded in. She likely would have been killed if not for a freakishly fortunate encounter with a cheerful gnome, who seemed to appear from no where to hurl bolts of fire and frost at her attackers. Once the fighting had ended, resulting in a badly-wounded paladin, a quite fatigued mage, and twenty or thirty dead dwarves, introductions were made. The gnome introduced herself first, smoothing out her crimson robes and fixing her cotton-candy pink hair back up into a pair of neat little buns. "Hi there! Sure are lucky I came along, aren't you? I'm Sarah Tinkwidget, here in search of rare reagents in the depths. What brings you down here, human?" Jhundormi collapsed to the ground, leaning on her sword. She was clad in the typical Lightforged armor of a paladin, which was a bit dented and marred by blades in some places. "I'm Brasswing... a mercenary. Down here on official business from Stormwind. Rare reagents, you say? Would you happen to be here on behalf of a high elf near the entrance of the masonary?" "Yes, how'd you know? Oh! Did he send you down here for reagents too? No, that can't be right. You're here on behalf of Stormwind... Oh well, if you help me collect reagents for him, I'll help you with your job down here!" Smiling, Sarah extended a four-fingered hand to the paladin, which was quickly accepted and shook. "It's a deal. Now then, what I'm looking for is somewhere in-" Jhundormi was cut off by a masculine voice from one of the cells. "Thank the Light, someone's arrived to get us out of here! The door's locked and the high inquisitor has the key. Get it from her and get us out of here!" They had a new goal now, to find said inquisitor and relieve them of their key. Thankfully, this wasn't too hard. They simply had to find follow the screams from the current victim and ambush the inquisitor as she did her dirty work. Beneath the combined power of the paladin and mage, the interrogator went down in mere seconds, lacking any sort of experience against a target that could fight back. With key in hand, Jhundormi and Sarah returned to the prison cells, unlocking each one they came across. The second to last cell held Marshall Windsor, clad in his skivvies and sitting on a pile of straw, glaring at the entrance to his little five-by-five room as though he could will the door out of existence. He perked up noticeably once he saw that the door was open and he had a couple of non-dwarven visitors. "Thank the Light, freedom! I bet I know why you're here. And even if you aren't here for that, this is very, VERY important. When I was captured, I was delivering a couple of tablets. You know. Looking all tablet-like and covered with draconic runes. The kind of magical things talked about in legends. Anyway, these particular legends were taken from me when I was captured. And I need them back if Stormwind is going to survive the upcoming assault. You two are going to help me, I hope. But if you aren't, I'm going to try to get them back myself. There was an armory down the hall from here, plus I need to find my squire. While we're at it, we might as well let-" Jhundormi interrupted Windsor's speedy talking by holding up the key, smiling broady at him. "I've already taken care of that, Marshall. The path to the armory is clear, and I'm pretty sure I saw some armor that might fit you in there. Unfortunately, your weapon is still missing, so you will have to do with a weapon liberated from an enemy. Light knows there's enough of those laying around." A few moments later, Jhundormi, a freshly-rearmed Windsor, and Sarah were tearing through the depths of Blackrock, with Windsor taking the lead in kills by a very healthy margin despite wielding a standard, mass-produced cast-iron longsword. He was certainly living up to the legendary exploits that Ragged John had told. Strangely, Windsor's vigor was even beginning to spread to Jhundormi and perhaps even Sarah. Jhundormi felt as though her heavy armor were as light as a feather, and that she was wielding a simple dagger instead of the bulky greatsword she exhausted herself with earlier. She called upon the energies of her quickening seal and was quickly shocked by the sheer speed with which she moved. She was striking like a cobra, cleaving through the dwarves' armor as though it were tissue paper. Likewise, the mage was saturating the air with a mixture of pure elemental flame and razor-sharp shards of ice. After some time, the dwarves began to take note of the path of slaughter the trio was leaving behind, and fled for their lives. Finally, after what felt like a thousand dwarves had fallen, Windsor spoke up, pointing out the first of the pair of tablets, clutched in the hand of what used to be something resembling an important military sort. Not far from there, they would find the second tablet set aside in a golem construction chamber. Continuing their slaughter through the halls, they came across the bar known as the Grim Guzzler. Curiosity would bring Jhundormi back to this place in a later story, and it would quickly become one of her favorite hangouts. But now, she was too busy ensuring the future of Stormwind. Preceded by a fleeing wave of dwarves, only the elementals and constructs were attacking the trio now, and they were dispatched in mere seconds. There didn't seem to be any way to stop them until they finally arrived at the throne room, with a grim-faced swarf sitting on the throne clutching an extremely well-crafted hammer, which bore the seal of the Dark Iron dwarves. "So you've come back to steal Ironfoe away from us again, have ye? I'll not let you have it. It was crafted by Dark Iron hands, it shall stay in Dark Iron hands." Windsor responded by explaining the origin of the hammer, and how it had been crafted for his twice-great grandfather by Franklorn Forgewright as a gesture of peace and goodwill. This was enough to press the emperor into attacking with a cry of 'blasphemy'. A very poor choice of actions for him, as it ended with him very quickly reduced to a pile of meat and bone fragments in the shredded remains of a regal robe and a shattered crown. Windsor picked his ancestral mace up and Sarah began preparations for a portal to the surface as they all congratulated themselves on a job well done and basked in the rush that only a crushing victory over outstanding odds could bring. Seconds later, the mage had completed her incantation, depositing all three of them directly in the center of Morgan's Vigil. Marshall Maxwell greeted them all heartily, clapping his hands together. "Well done, Brasswing. There's only one more step to go, and that's to bring this irrefutable proof to Fordragon and Prestor's attention!" Windsor interjected here. "Wrong, Maxwell. I have here the Tablets of Unmasking. I thought they were written in some sort of code, but I was wrong. They're written in the Draconic language! The language of dragons! All that's left to do now is to bring these into 'Lady' Prestor's presence and activate them, and her disguise will be revealed!" "Whoa there, Windsor. What do you mean disguise? Lady Prestor is a dragon? If you insist it's true, it must be. Very well, off with you. Waste no more time with explanations, you have a dragon to slay." All three of the humans gathered looked down to the gnome, who began to open a second portal, this one leading directly to Stormwind. Seconds later, the trio appeared from thin air in front of General Marcus Jonthan. Somehow, Lady Prestor had detected their presence, and her shout of "Guards! Seize them! Reginald Windsor is a traitor to Stormwind and the Alliance!" was already echoing through the oddly silent streets. Windsor explained the situation to the General, holding the tablets up as proof. "...and I regret to say this, my old friend, but if you will stand against me, I will have to strike you down." Jonthan obviously had no intention of interrupting Windsor's triumphant return to Stormwind. "Worry not, Reginald." With that, he turned to his men and informed them. "I have it from a trustworthy source that Lady Katrana Prestor is not in fact a member of Stormwind's nobility, and is in fact a spy planted by our enemy. See to it that Reginald Windsor and his allies make their way safely to the throne room." The trio left, making their way to a showdown with Lady Prestor, who in reality was the dragon Onyxia herself. Windsor, clad in his heavily-enchanted Stormwind Marshall uniform, with Ironfoe at his side, Sarah who was clad in the somewhat singed and frayed robe of a magister, and Jhundormi clad in gouged and scratched Lightforge armor with her signature weapon at the time, a custom-forged Truesilver Champion, as well as an escort of eight guards walking in formation at their flanks, all headed directly to the throne room. Once they had arrived, Lady Prestor's normally sarcastic demeanor dissolved into that of a panicky rat, cornered and looking at the jaws of a hungry cat. Bolvar Fordragon pushed the Prince off to the safe room and turned to Prestor, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. It was likely that he had never seen her this disturbed. "Is something wrong, Lady Prestor? What do you have to worry about from traitors?" Prestor remained silent, looking for a way out. Windsor brandished the tablets, setting them on the ground before him with a triumphant grin on his face. "This Prestor is no lady, Highlord Bolvar. She is the dread lady Onyxia in disguise, and I can prove it!" With that, he began to read from the tablets at his feet, drawing his hammer in preparation. Jhundormi, Sarah, and their squad of guards looked to Windsor and did the same, preparing for an intense battle. The tablets began to glow brightly, as did Lady Prestor, nearly doubling over in pain as she began to shift into a dragon. Meanwhile, Bolvar drew his sword and took to Windsor's side. "It seems you were right." He looked to the royal guards positioned around the primiter of the throne room. "Guards! Attack her!" Fully transformed, the dragon's mouth contorted into what might have been a smirk. "These are -my- royal guards, mortals. They are under my control. Guards! Destroy these fools! I have been defeated for now, but you, Windsor, shall pay the price for your interference." She affixed Reginald with a terrible glare and breathed a gout of shadowflame at him, engulfing in flames that burned hot enough to burn the soul itself. Windsor did not scream, and his last words in this world were "Just as I saw it..." Had any of the fighters not been occupied with the dragonspawn that the royal guards had become, he might have been saved, or at least lasted more than the mere moment that it took to mutter that cryptic realization. Windsor's body burned away to ash as the last of the dragonspawn were slain. Everyone who knew the brave Marshall Reginald Windsor mourned his death, and even a handful of his enemies felt his loss. His armor and weapon were passed down to his next of kin, though none of his family could replicate the sheer sense of power that it bestowed upon those who gazed upon it. Jhundormi was left pondering a few things that seemed odd to her. His last words, mostly. 'Just as he saw it'? And how did he come to the conclusion that the tablets were written in draconic rather than some sort of code while locked away in a prison cell? More importantly, how did he even know -how- to read and properly pronounce draconic in the first place? Could it be that he was a dragon himself? It didn't really matter now. Category:Stories